The Doctor Underwater (A 12th Doctor Story)
by Storyteller1990
Summary: Shortly after the Doctor acquires his new Sonic Screwdriver, he travels back in time, and finds a familiar face...


The T.A.R.D.I.S, a time machine with the appearance of a blue, wooden telephone box used for calling the police, flew through time and space at its usual speed. Its inhabitant kept the course, calming the machine down whenever it became upset, for the T.A.R.D.I.S had a life and mind of its own, and could make choices whenever it saw fit. The inhabitant was a man who only went by the name "The Doctor." It was unknown why he went by such a name, but what was known was he was a man not to be trifled with, for he had tricks up his sleeve that could rival Houdini.

To understand the Doctor is to understand the reality of his species: he came from another world. A world currently trapped in time and space. His race consisted of people—Time Lords—who could change their faces and genders when faced with death, and the Doctor was no different. He had gone through a total of thirteen changes, or regenerations, which was more than usual since the maximum was twelve. Certain circumstances, however, changed that, giving him a new cycle of regenerations. His current face, that of an older man with intense eyebrows and eyes that could be kind one moment and the next angry, was positioned at the screen.

"Where will you take me this time, girl?" wondered the Doctor. In spite of the fact that he was an alien, he spoke in a Scottish accent. His planet, Gallifrey, had many accents, including those found on Earth. In his tenth incarnation—when he dressed in all black and sported a buzz cut—he elaborated this to a companion who didn't believe him from another world, because he sounded like a Northern Englishman. "Lots of planets have a North!" he explained. So, it was to be expected that if lots of planets had a North, they must have had some Scottish folk who took every opportunity to blame them for their problems, as this current version of the Doctor noted when he found his accent to be that of a Scot. "I can blame the English!" he exclaimed.

He raised his head for a moment and looked around his home, which was bigger on the inside. So many ghosts, he thought. So many. Like his appearance, the Doctor had an ever-changing cast of men and women (mostly women) to accompany him on his travels. Why mostly women was anyone's guess. Maybe they found him attractive. Maybe they were like Belle from _Beauty and the Beast_ , and longed for adventure in the great, wide somewhere. Maybe they led lives that made them happy, but as soon as they entered the T.A.R.D.I.S, it became clear to them that there were whole new worlds that they had yet to see. Or maybe it was none of these reasons. Maybe it had more to do with the Doctor. His first companion was his granddaughter, after all. It was possible that he saw a little bit of her in all of these companions. Or, maybe he was just so used to traveling with women that it made no sense to him to change his routine. Whatever the case, these were called companions, and they all met with different fates: some with death, others with the loss of adventure in their blood. Some stayed longer, others didn't. Each departure left wounds deeply embedded in the Doctor's two hearts, but he was always told to find another companion, because to be alone was to further remove his conscience and humanity.

The T.A.R.D.I.S began to shake and loud whirring noises told the Doctor he was traveling back in time. To where, it was uncertain. He never knew where he would be taken, and that was what kept the adventure alive. He held on tight, pressing buttons and flipping dials and switches to keep the T.A.R.D.I.S at bay. This was going to be a rocky trip.

The sound of rushing water filled the T.A.R.D.I.S, and instantly an air bubble surrounded the machine. The Doctor went to the control panel and looked for coordinates. As listed, they were forty one degrees forty-three minutes fifty-seven seconds north, forty-nine degrees fifty-six minutes and forty-nine seconds west; three-hundred and seventy miles off the coast of... Mistaken Point, Newfoundland, at a depth of twelve thousand, five hundred feet; more than two and a half miles down the Atlantic Ocean.

Hold on, thought the Doctor, Newfoundland? There's nothing down here except... The Doctor quickly looked at the date. April fifteenth, 1912. 1912? The time was three o'clock in the morning, Newfoundland Daylight Time. The T.A.R.D.I.S spotted something directly in the distance. It seemed like nothing more than a giant mud bank that had no reason to exist, but the creation of the mud bank was massive and made of iron.

"Take a scan," said the Doctor.

The T.A.R.D.I.S scanned the object, and what an object it was: one half of a luxury liner. The open end was ragged. If it had funnels, they were gone, replaced instead by holes big enough to admit a locomotive. The mast had been knocked port side and aft. The wheelhouse was destroyed, the wooden wheel and bronze telemotor remaining. Cables lay everywhere. Because this section—the bow section—fell at an angle of about forty-five degrees at a speed of thirty-five miles an hour, its nose was buried in the sediment, its anchors almost reaching the mud. The forward well deck was buckled from compression, creating a hole in the starboard side. The area around the bridge was damaged due to a combined effect of the ship plastically deforming from inertia and a down-blast of water created by a wake as the bow descended. At D Deck, on the port side, a shell-door was open. The Doctor didn't need to see the nameplate, for it was obvious to him what he was looking at: the freshly sunken bow section of the RMS _Titanic_.

"Why here?" asked the Doctor. "Of all places, why here?"

The T.A.R.D.I.S didn't answer. Instead, she moved across the bow's massive four-hundred and forty-one foot long by one-hundred and thirteen foot tall hull. As the Doctor peered out the window, he saw numerous amounts of debris scattered about the seabed. These included personal belongings, some wood from the deck, and other items that fell to the bottom when _Titanic_ broke in half on the surface. However, what caught his attention was the amount of bodies: men, women, and children. Some of them were members of the crew, which included every single engineer that was brought on board. Others were third class, second class, and first class passengers. Most of these passengers, however, were third-class citizens, because the focus was toward the first and second classes. The Doctor knew full well that even back then, no one considered them to be of any importance because they had what was thought to be little. He saw the bodies of the all of the musicians who bravely played on as the ship went down. The famous passengers Ida and Isidor Straus still clasped hands. A mother and daughter from second class held onto each other tight. However, as much as these images devastated him, only one body caught the Doctor's full attention: the body of a maid. Her face was kind, and looked as though she had aspirations of her own. Already, flesh-eating organisms were performing their work, but the face was still recognizable. To the Doctor, it was a face he remembered and the name appeared to him like a flash.

 _Astrid Peth..._

But this couldn't be, thought the Doctor. She wasn't on the real _Titanic_. It was a space ship made to look like the _Titanic_. Not the real thing. Then he heard noise. It didn't sound good. He guided the T.A.R.D.I.S back to the bow section and found himself face to face with another ship. Not a liner, but a ship normally seen in space. It had a large disc-shape in the middle, and four long wings facing the T.A.R.D.I.S. The Doctor recognized this ship in an instant: a Sontaran flagship. How they were able to make this one operate underwater, let alone at a pressure of six thousand pounds per square inch, went beyond even the Doctor's comprehension.

These things again, though the Doctor. He went to the microphone and brought it to his lips.

"What are you doing here?" asked the Doctor. "You have no business being here."

There was a moment of pause, then...

"We have as much business here as you do, Doctor," said the voice from the Sontaran ship.

The Doctor knew that voice. It was a voice he hadn't heard since... Wessex.

"Styre!" said the Doctor.

"The Doctor doesn't forget old enemies," said Styre.

"What are you doing here?" demanded the Doctor.

"We have come to claim the _Titanic_."

"Why? It's of no use to you. Look at it."

"We are, and all we see is a great ship. All we see is a great cover."

"A cover? You intend on raising it!"

"We intend on using it to invade New York. A great war is coming, and we want to start it."

"Why the _Titanic_?"

"Because everyone knows that it's gone. Once they see it enter the harbor, they will gather. All the world will have their eyes to us, not knowing we will strike."

"How do you intend on raising a ship that's broken in two?"

"We shall put it back together. The pieces are all here. All they need is to be found."

"You'll not do that. This is a grave site."

"You will not stop us!"

What was he going to do? He needed a plan, and fast.

"Alright," said the Doctor, feigning defeat, "It's yours. But, let me help you get there."

"Oh, no," said Styre, "You will not trick me this time."

"No tricks," said the Doctor, "I've grown weary of this world anyway. Everyone around me is doomed. There's no use for it. Allow me on board and I'll help you gather the pieces. All of them."

"Alright. Prepare the beam."

A few whirring noises sounded, and the Doctor was transported onto the Sontaran ship. Styre looked no different than he had when they first met. He was still that cynical yet intelligent toad that replaced Jingo Lynx as commander of the Fifth Sontaran Army Space Fleet. Surrounding him were the other warmongering Sontarans. All staring. All waiting. The Doctor had many enemies, but the Sontarans were among the most belligerent and militaristic. With large bulbous heads, deep set features, and short, brown stocky bodies, the Doctor remembered when one of his companions—whom was one of his best friends—referred to them as "huge potatoes with ray guns." It was a humorous comparison, and one that he kept with him always.

"So," began Styre, "the Doctor gives up on humanity. How shall you help us?"

"Simple," said the Doctor. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his newly acquired sonic screwdriver. The T.A.R.D.I.S had just created it and given it to him, and he couldn't wait to use it. It looked odd yet appealing. The palette was blue, grey, and brown. Its design was a sight to investigate: the head was a shape similar to the T.A.R.D.I.S, its middle was a tad bigger, with a dial instead of a button. Its handle had four metal strips. But, the Sontarans knew full well what the instrument was capable of under the right circumstances. They were all put on edge.

"Don't worry," said the Doctor, "This will help us."

"How?" inquired Styre.

"It will take a scan of the entire wreck site," said the Doctor, "and then will put the ship back together long enough to allow you passage to New York to begin your war."

"Wonderful! Do your work."

The Doctor walked over to the control panel and placed the sonic screwdriver's head onto the wheel. He turned on the power, and the entire ship whirred to life. The Doctor turned to the Sontarans with a smile on his face.

"Styre," said the Doctor, "I'd love to stay and watch you all achieve your victory, but I must leave. So, good luck."

The Doctor disappeared in a brilliant light and found himself back in the T.A.R.D.I.S. He looked through the window and watched the Sontaran ship move up toward the surface. As the Doctor planned, the ship would continue all the way into space, if Styre didn't try anything. Of course, he did, and the ship blew up. It normally wasn't like the Doctor to kill anyone, let alone a space ship full of Sontarans, but this was different. It was as if he didn't care. But, as soon as he turned back the T.A.R.D.I.S. showed him a hologram of the maid. He fell to his knees, and didn't want to get back up; he hadn't the strength. He remembered talking to Astrid about adventures planned together, the beauty of it all, the kiss, and in those last moments of letting her atoms go into space, telling her she wasn't falling but flying. A part of him hoped maybe she would appear and let him know that she was around, and still flying. But he knew it wouldn't happen. So, he took the advice of another companion, the Impossible Girl...

 _Run... run, you clever boy... and remember._

He flips some switches, turned some dials, pushed some buttons, and left _Titanic_ to rest in darkness until the first of September, 1985, when Dr. Robert D. Ballard of Woods Hole Oceanographic Institute and Jean-Louis Michel of French Research Institute for Exploration of the Sea would discover her and show her to the world.


End file.
